


Enthroned, Love and Beauty

by Dameceles



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Birthday Smut, Body Worship, Clothed Sex, Cunnilingus, Enthusiastic Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Lingerie, Married Couple, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Canon, Semi-Public Sex, Throne Sex, Vaginal Sex, implied negotiated scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2019-01-23 21:22:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12516848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dameceles/pseuds/Dameceles
Summary: It was the Day of Reversal, when the highest bowed down low and the lowest sat in places of honor. Today of all days, Marx decided that rules could be bent. He wished to see his Queen seated upon his throne... in more ways than one.





	Enthroned, Love and Beauty

**Author's Note:**

> A fill for [the kink meme prompt](http://fe-kink-meme.tumblr.com/post/165909091777/hinokaxander-throne-smut#notes): _Hinoka/Xander throne smut_ This fic is set during a time when Marx has been crowned Nohr’s king, the ‘post game’ can be applied to two-out-of-three of the game canon routes or following [my personal AU](https://archiveofourown.org/series/289847) whichever the reader prefers. "Day of Reversal" is based off of the Nohrian Festival of Bonds DLC and [historical holidays like Saturnalia](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saturnalia), and the lingerie is not in standard western style [but instead like this](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/DMvoRS8VoAEXqdI.jpg).

It was the Day of Reversal, when the highest bowed down low and the lowest sat in places of honor to sup from the choicest of foods and drinks. However, Nohr's rulers could publicly only bend so far, thus Marx had elected to withdraw back to the castle after delivering the king's speech to begin the festivities. Castle Krackenstein was almost eerily quiet, as its regular staff had been given the day off and were out in the city celebrating. Yet only one set of footsteps echoed through the empty halls despite two of them walking hand in hand— Hinoka's soft slippers making hers almost silent.

Marx kept feeling the moments when his wife would slow to glance this way and that despite no one else being present. He made sure to match her pace and let her set the speed, not wishing to make her feel any more pressured. After all, they were on their way to the throne room because she'd agreed to indulge his request— more specifically because he'd called upon a promised favor.

Earlier that very week had been his birthday, and because of unforeseen circumstances Hinoka's trip out of the city had run long and she'd been entirely absent. It’d been the first time during their two decades of marriage that’d she’d missed spending that day with him. When she'd returned the morning after, her face had been as red as her hair. She'd repeatedly apologized for missing his birthday and hadn't relented until he'd accepted her oath that she'd fulfill one request no matter what it might be. Only a few days later, Marx had decided upon what belated birthday gift he desired.

By tradition, only a crowned dragon-blooded ruler had the right to sit upon the Midnight Throne. It was the seat of Nohrian monarchs, the ancestral throne of royal house Anya’s entire lineage. A symbol of Marx’s power as King. However, today of all days, Marx decided that rule could be bent for his Queen. He wished to see her seated upon his throne... in more ways than one.

They entered not through the main entrance with its immense, ornate doors that those seeking an audience had to pass through. Instead, they entered by the servant's door, purposefully designed for discretion, yet in the grand hall the sound of it being pushed open still resounded. Luckily the cavernous room was completely empty of occupants. After they'd passed through, Marx released his wife's hand in order to close the door behind them. Hinoka immediately brought her hand beside the other which was keeping the long, high-collared cloak she wore closed at the front with a grip strong enough to turn her knuckles white. He might’ve teasingly inquired if she was feeling cold, except he knew how very little she wore beneath the cloak in that moment— her lack of dress had also been part of his request. Still she didn’t hesitate to follow him as Marx walked further in, only stopping when they’d reached the dais of the throne proper.

“T-this is where you want to do it?” Even hushed, her words echoed through the chamber. Hinoka’s eyes were wide as they darted about the empty throne room. “You're serious?”

With a chuckle, Marx bit back a smile and nodded. “It's the Reversal, much will be forgiven this day.”

She gave him a skeptical look, then turned towards the throne proper. He had to admit, it was an intimidating piece of architecture— austere angles of carved marble and lines of twisted metal, towering atop a flight of stairs, surrounded by petrified vines of Brynhildr. Although the structure was large, its seat had been carved with only one occupant in mind. He’d already known this fact and made plans accordingly.

When Marx ascended the stair again Hinoka followed, though this time with a small moment of hesitation. At the top of the dais they had to stand facing each other in order to both fit, so Marx went down a step and bowed to his wife. “If Her Majesty would kindly remove her cloak,” he asked, then held out his hands.

A blush rose on Hinoka’s face, but with a determined look she unclenched her fists and then undid the broach holding the cloak secure at the collar. Soon enough the heavy material dropped into his waiting hands and there his blushing wife stood— clad only in soft slippers and a thin robe made from white silk so fine that light passed through and revealed everything underneath save for the patches of flowers embroidered in white thread. It was an article of clothing not meant to be worn alone but rather on top of other layers; he’d seen her wear it properly in the past… and it’d given rise to many nighttime fantasies, akin to this very moment.

Hinoka’s feet shuffled. Although she fidgeted she didn’t go so far as to cross her arms, and with her throat so tantalizingly bare he saw when she swallowed. Marx knew his gaze was hot and heavy, but even as he folded the cloak he couldn’t bring himself to look away from the beautiful sight of her. Not averting his eyes Marx gestured for her to sit, and the way she casually dropped into the hard lines of the throne’s seat caused a stirring in his loins.

She blinked up at him with a frown. “It’s not very comfortable.”

Marx fought back another smile, and countered, “No less than Hoshido’s great white throne?”

“I don’t know, I’d never- I mean, it wasn’t my place as third heir.” Amber eyes looked past him towards the floor, as if ashamed.

“Hinoka, you are more than worthy.” He reached out a hand and tucked her bangs away from her face. “Shall I see to my Queen’s comfort on this throne?”

Her gaze lifted to give him a sultry look as Hinoka nodded and sat back in the seat. Marx immediately dropped to one knee before her, using the folded cloak as a cushion on the stair to spare himself later pains. Heedlessly, he discarded his gloves and his pulse began to quicken as he took in the sight before him. This was precisely what he’d wanted— Hinoka enthroned, splendid and confident in her beauty, in that she belonged.

His gaze roved over his wife, and Marx found himself happy to simply pay homage to her body. However, when she tried to meet him half-way with, he caught her slender hands and placed them upon the throne’s armrests. Hinoka’s expression grew confused, so he explained, “Just sit back and enjoy.”

After she nodded, Marx didn't stifle the urge to touch Hinoka. His bare hands ran the paths his eyes had traced countless times and he admired at how perfectly the jut of her hip fit against his palm, how warm the bare skin at the back of her neck felt under his fingers. She shivered a little as he carded his fingers through her red hair, he admired how the years hadn’t dimmed its bright color unlike his own where more gray strands appeared with each passing day. As his hands cupped the back of her head, her eyelids fluttered and lips parted on a long sigh. The sight of it stirred something inside him. He removed one hand from her hair, gently stroking her jaw line up past the faintest forming wrinkles to the corner of her mouth. Her lips were rosy and full, yielding against his fingers as he traced the shape of them.

Marx gave into the temptation, pressed a quick kiss against them, felt their plush softness caressing his own lips. When he pulled back Hinoka chased after him, leaning up in an eager stretch. So, he surged back and slotted their mouths together, allowing her tongue to stroke over his. Breaking away, he whispered compliments into her ear, swept the tip of his tongue along the shell of it, then pressed his lips to the soft patch of skin behind it. He quickly kissed a path down her neck to her shoulder and inhaled deeply, the scent of her at once familiar and enticing. He lingered a moment to feel the pulse at her throat flutter against his cheek, and she shivered when he breathed out.

He drew away, reluctantly, yet also eager to watch as his hands settled upon her chest. His hands rested along her ribcage and his thumbs just brushing the underside of her breasts through the thin material of her robe. After a moment of feeling her breathe, he then touched her breasts, running his fingertips over them lightly. When his teasing touches didn’t change, Hinoka pressed her body against him— arching her back to push her chest into his hand more firmly, his fingers caging the breast he'd teasingly stroked. From a kittenish growl she made, he could tell that wasn’t what she’d sought.

Marx moved and tugged at the robe’s collar until it gaped open, then splayed his fingers against the tan skin bared to him. He reached with both hands and gave her what she wanted— touching her breasts, weighing them, carefully squeezing them. He ran his thumbs lightly over her rosy nipples, rubbing circles that elicited small sighs from her. Marx marveled at the yielding firmness and their sensitivity, as he had ever since the first time. He gave into yet another temptation. His hand cupped a breast as he ducked his head and brought the nipple into his mouth to lave at— which soon had Hinoka moaning and shifting against her seat.

When he switched from one to the other, she blurted out, “Marx, can I touch you now?”

He noticed how her hands had a strained grip on the armrests, and Marx smiled as he answered, “Not yet.”

He then lavished her remaining nipple with attention to make up for the previous neglect. Once done, he positioned himself low on both knees and kissed his way down her taunt stomach to her lower half. With one final kiss to the little paunch of fat that’d stubbornly clung to Hinoka’s frame after her pregnancies with Siegbert and their other children, Marx drew back, slipped his hands beneath her robe, and let his callused fingers drag over one of his favorite parts of his wife— her legs. Long and lovely, with thighs strongly muscled to match her toned calves which ended with delicate-looking ankles and dainty, slipper-shod feet.

His fingers curled around her calves, thumbs gently pressing in tiny circles. He briefly caressed the backs of her knees, knowing that place to be as sensitive as her breasts, and got a bitten-off moan from his wife which further heated his blood. Then his hands were on her thighs, pushing them apart, brazenly spreading her legs as wide as the throne allowed for. Marx's hands stroked up the bare skin of her inner thighs, then he trailed his fingertips feather-light through the curls between them.

“Marx, please,” Hinoka murmured, lifting her hips from the seat and into his hand. Obeying her unspoken order, he firmed his touch and stroked over her mound. He continued to touch her, hard then soft, then hard again, as she repeated his name. “Marx, Marx..."

Only after she'd nearly bucked off of the seat entirely did he cease. Instead Marx curled one arm around Hinoka's backside and slid her forward on the throne. He flipped the hem of her robe up, and hitched one of her knees over his shoulders. Then his hand gripped her hips, angling her toward him against the hard edge of the throne’s seat.

He heard Hinoka stifle a gasp when his fingers spread and parted her open. He could tell that Hinoka was striving not to buck her hips or moan aloud. It had him taking his time as he ducked close, breathing deep and waiting until she spoke. “Marx-”

Marx leaned in and licked her from the bottom of her cleft to the top. He felt her entire body spasm, but his grip kept her in place. The muscles in her legs trembled, twitching with every gasp, every swipe of his tongue. The wet noise was almost obscenely loud in the empty chamber, but not enough to eclipse the wonderful sounds his wife tried to stifle. When her hips managed to buck towards him despite his grip, Marx pressed his tongue into her core and curled it inside of her— which caused her head to tip back. After tugging out he blew on the bud at her apex, then took it into his mouth and sucked hard.

Hinoka gave a low cry that echoed loudly, back bowing, hands finally moving off the throne’s armrests to grab onto him. Her legs shook against the hard stone of the throne, her knees and calves gripping both his shoulder and the side of the seat tightly. Pleasure pierced all the way to the pit of his stomach and would've buckled his knees if he hadn't already been kneeling. Marx softened his mouth, but didn’t lessen his attentions— reveling in the way her muscles jumped at any touch and her succession of involuntary whimpering moans. With a keening whine, her fingers dug into his shoulders then forcefully pushed him away from her most sensitive flesh, which was now sodden and flushed red.

It took his wife more than a moment to catch her breath, before she scolded, “Enough o-of that, Marx!”

“Apologies, I got carried away,” Marx licked his slick lips and swallowed, jaw a bit sore, and found his own breathing quick and unsteady.

Marx withdrew his hand from between her legs, causing her to quietly groan, then wiped the slick from his mouth and chin. Bringing his dripping fingers to his mouth and sucked them clean, enjoying the taste of Hinoka’s desire combined with the salt of his own skin. When he looked up Marx found his wife watching him, only a thin ring of amber visible around her dilated pupils.

The hard throbbing of his own arousal leaked to the forefront of Marx’s awareness now that he lacked an active distraction. Her hands still on his shoulders tightened again when she pushed him back further, while Hinoka wriggled back to sitting properly with legs closed. Before he could voice his disappointment over the loss of the view, she lifted her hands and said, “This throne needs a cushion. Will you provide one, lord husband?”

“Happily, lady wife,” Marx smiled fully as he answered. He then got to his feet, after a struggle against stiff joints, setting the now rumpled cloak aside. However, when he bent to pick her up, she held up a hand to stop him.

“Wait,” Hinoka’s voice was commanding even as she wobblily stood. “Before you are seated, unlace your breeches.”

Marx met her gaze and did as she bid, slowly unknotting and loosening the laces. It was a relief, as his clothing had grown too tight with his own building arousal, yet the scant sensations were also a tease. His wife watched him with heavy-lidded eyes, drawing a kiss-bruised lip between white teeth. It made him want to kiss her all over again, but instead he let her grip his upper arms and direct him down to sit upon the throne. He kept himself still as she then reached a hand into his unlaced breeches and freed his erection.

He exhaled sharply at the sudden sensations— the cool air contrasting her calloused palm and slender fingers on his hard flesh —but Hinoka didn’t spend any more time getting him situated. Instead she turned around, hiked her robe up, slid over his thighs onto his lap, and straddled him. She pressed his hands onto her waist but he needed no guidance: after so many years in the marriage bed Marx was no longer callow as a green youth. He lightly lifted her up as Hinoka took him in hand and then lowered herself. It was a well-practiced motion and quickly their hips were pressed flush, his hard shaft seated in the give of Hinoka's core.

They both inhaled sharply at the sensation of their bodies joining; despite urges to move flashing through him, Marx held himself still. Moaning appreciatively, he simply savored the full press of her body to his for as long as he could stand, her taut backside snug against him, his body attuned to hers. Marx’s mind fixated upon how much easier it would be for him to sit upon the throne if it was always like _this _— Hinoka's weight on him, her warmth around him, his cock inside of her.__

However, his wife wasn't so patient. Once she’d found her balance, she grabbed the throne’s armrests and began to roll her hips. Hinoka worked herself on him, taking her pleasure with little circular grinds and giving freely to him with the rising and falling of her hips. Marx kept a firm hold on her waist, shifting as much as he could while helping her keep the rhythm she had set even. Steadily the rocking turned to thrusts. Hinoka tossed her head with breathy words of approval— her hands reached blindly back until her slender fingers sank into his hair, nails scratching against his scalp when she tugged on the strands.

It was almost unbelievable how she fed his desire no matter where she touched, Marx fervently hoped that he had similar effect on her. Harsh breaths, heavy and hurried, fell past her lips. With the way her arms had reached up, each pant lifted her breasts until they strained, nipples peaked, framed by the sheer fabric of her robe. He could only imagine what a sight Hinoka was in that moment— clothing askew, hair mussed, skin flushed rosily, limbs spread, panting and aroused —all while eagerly leaning into her lover for more.

Hinoka only looked like this with him, for him, and the jealous part of Marx was exultant in that knowledge.

Her exposed breasts swayed with every thrust, pert and practically begging to be touched, and without a thought one of his hands rose to fondle them. Hinoka's head fell back with a low, guttural noise he'd not have thought to expect from her, and he gave a quick pinch to her nipple, earning a hitched moan that went straight to his loins. That broke his wavering control, and Marx was swept up in the sensations. He gripped her by the hips and planted his feet to move within her, a gasp escaping her at the new angle. He sped faster, causing her fingers to tighten convulsively in his hair in time with his thrusts. Yet that sharp tugs helped Marx regained his self-control, understanding that he wouldn't last long at this pace.

His blood pounded in his ears yet he still heard Hinoka’s groaned protests as his desperate thrusts slowed to a rhythmic roll of his hips. He forced the measure of his breaths to even, dragging each out until his chest hurt, the harsh sound mingling with that of his wife’s panting. After another of her frustrated groans, Marx released one hand from gripping her hips and reached, his fingers circling over the bud at the apex of her thighs. That had her suddenly writhing against him, making needy sounds that she rarely allowed herself. He clenched his jaw and his teeth ached with the effort of holding back. Still he somehow managed to keep a strong leash on himself, managed to pull back for every measure she sank to meet him.

Their rocking didn’t stop, though the rhythm became erratic. Continuing his touches, Marx tucked his chin over her shoulder to look at her flushed face. Hinoka's eyes were nearly shut and her mouth was still open and panting. The moment their gazes met, he asked, “Are you going to come?”

Her breath hitched and Hinoka made an incoherent noise in reply.

“I want you to,” Marx confessed, honest and breathless. “I want to see you come, Hinoka, want to feel you—”

An abrupt cry of his name cut him off, doubling off the walls of the throne room. She ground down against him hard and her core clenched around his cock, seizing around him. Hinoka was beautiful and everything Marx wanted. He shuddered into her, rocking up brokenly, control falling apart with an echoing shout, and not caring. When he came back from the high of release, their joined hips were stilled. He'd slumped against Hinoka, pressed his face to her neck, and was breathing in her smell, her hair falling softly across his forehead. Hinoka's arms were raised but lax about him. So, Marx raised his own arms and wrapped them around his wife, content to hold her close like this for as long as he could.

She finally untangled her fingers from his hair and let her hands fall back onto the throne’s armrests. Her voice was somewhat roughened as Hinoka said, “…the seat’s still not very comfortable.”

He laughed, full of soft and good feelings, his arms tight around her. Once his laughter had subsided, Marx replied, “Then I won’t have to worry about my Queen stealing my throne out from under me, will I?”


End file.
